


Hunt

by GoatVibesOnly



Category: Original Work, WolfQuest (Video Game)
Genre: Deer, Failed attempts at hunting (no animal death), Gen, Minor descriptions of blood/injury, Originally written for WolfQuest forums, WolfQuest - Freeform, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26899270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoatVibesOnly/pseuds/GoatVibesOnly
Summary: “So, you think you’re ready?”Breeze stiffens, neck arching up and ears swiveling as they pinpoint the sound. They lift their nose to the air, testing the wind, and then relax as they recognize the scent approaching them. “Morak! You know better than to interrupt my morning meditations.”“And you know better than to be a wimp that needs to contemplate their thoughts and actions every day.” Morak sidles up to Breeze and bumps his hip into his sibling’s side.
Kudos: 1





	Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a fic I found while digging through my old writings the other day. I wrote this back in 2016 and I thought it mostly held up, and I like these characters, so I figured I might as well share here. 
> 
> Some context: I originally wrote this for the WolfQuest forums, which had pretty strict rules about what was and wasn't allowed, eg; stories had to be as realistic as possible. So while these characters are not actually realistic wild wolves who have to hunt for every meal, I was constrained to that model while writing this story. One thing to note is that due to WQ's rules I was not allowed to use "they/them" pronouns for Breeze; I've tried to change all of the pronouns back to the correct one but if you catch a spare "he/him" in the wrong place, that's why. (I promise I am not purposely misgendering my own character, lol.)
> 
> Besides some minor editing for grammar, I've elected to leave this story as close to the original as possible. Please enjoy!

The sun creeps slowly, haltingly up from the horizon, no more willing to be up than any of the creatures she shines down on. She inches up, bit by bit, blossoming her warmth and light across the land. Her tender fingers probe in between branches, shooting out shards of red and gold and dusting everything in a layer of crispness and excitement. The breeze dances through the trees, more purposeful and cunning than the slow lumber of summer, but not wicked as winter. Fall is on its way. 

The creatures of the night settle in to dream of raindrops and dew and clear moonlit skies and comets dancing among the stars just as easily as birds and faeries. The creatures of the day start to rouse themselves for a day full of shadowy, sun-hidden paths and birdsong and dragonflies caressing the water’s edge, leaving ripples so subtle it was hard to see them unless you know how to look.

“So, you think you’re ready?”

Breeze stiffens, neck arching up and ears swiveling as they pinpoint the sound. They lift their nose to the air, testing the wind, and then relax as they recognize the scent approaching them. “Morak! You know better than to interrupt my morning meditations.”

“And you know better than to be a wimp that needs to contemplate their thoughts and actions every day.” Morak sidles up to Breeze and bumps his hip into his sibling’s side. 

In some ways it’s easy to see the family resemblance, as they both have gray-black-silver fur, though Breeze more silver and Morak more black. But past that, the resemblance becomes muddied: Morak is short and stocky, and he always carries a twinkle in his only eye and a pep in his step. His face is wide with an eternal grin as he makes a joke out of life. Breeze has sticks for legs and is half as wide around as their brother. They always look like they just ate something sour, and they almost always has something to complain about.

Now is no exception. “Mom _told_ you not to pick on me,” they whine, scooting away from Morak’s friendly nudges and winks. “She _told_ you. She made you _promise_.”

“Mama’s not here right now,” woofs Morak, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “Besides, you know I wouldn’t bother you without good reason.”

“Wanting to show me a cool rock you found is not a good reason,” mutters Breeze.

Morak laughs. “That, too! Thanks for reminding me, I almost forgot about that! If you squint your eyes and look just so, it looks exactly like Gurion when he’s--”

“I _don’t_ want to know.” Breeze snaps, baring their teeth and wrinkling their nose in disgust. “Is there anything _else_ that I urgently need to know about?”

“Oh, yeah!” Morak’s tail wags from side to side so hard it makes his body shake. “Lark said she found a herd of deer nearby! It’s hunting time, baby! I knew little baby bro didn’t want to risk missing his first hunt.” He bumps Breeze’s shoulder with his nose with an ease that suggests he’s done it a thousand times.

Breeze growls. “Stop teasing me.”

“Is it teasing if it’s true?” says Morak, and then he grins again. “Nah, c’mon little brother, you know it’s all in good fun. Come on, we’re on once the sun is fully risen. No need to be late.”

Breeze casts a glance in the direction of the sun and yelps. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? The sun’s fully risen now!”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Morak. “C’mon, I’ll take you to the others. And aren’t you lucky! The rock that looks like Gurion is on our way!”

* * *

Sure enough, the others are waiting for them when they arrive. Morak barrels in, almost tumbling right past their hiding place straight into the thick of the herd. Breeze picks their way through the trees with more finesse, trotting in and slowing to a halt in front of the others. They nod at Lark and bend down to touch their nose to her brown fur. “Morning,” they say.

Lark raises an eyebrow. “You’re late,” she says, a hint of a growl rising up in her throat. “Don’t act all friendly on me because you’re just embarrassed.” 

Breeze strategically looks at everything that isn’t Lark, ashamed to be caught in the act. “Sorry,” they mumble.

“As you should be,” she sniffs. She points towards the herd of deer with her nose. “There they are. Hey, lovebirds, you guys paying attention?” 

Behind them, Morak gave Cheri’s golden fur one last nuzzle before snapping to attention. “Yessir!” 

Cheri laughs and rolls her eyes. “Yes, Lark.” She pricks an ear, listening. “I can hear one limping. At the back. Its footfalls are irregular.”

Lark nods, casting her nose and eyes over the herd. Her hearing isn’t as good as the others, and she relies on them for picking out nuances like that. “Is it that small one, trailing behind?” 

Cheri tilts her head, squinting as she tries to match scent with sound with sight. “No. In front of that. Its mother.”

Breeze tilts their own head back and forth now, trying to pick out the deer Cheri had described. The four of them were standing at the edge of a small field, crouching behind a fallen log. They were downwind of the herd, and the grass and shrubbery swayed towards them, inviting them forward. Maybe a dozen wolf lengths away was a herd of ten or so white tailed deer. The sun made their fur glisten and gleam, and they burned gold among the underbrush. Leading the cluster was a proud stag, his rack an explosion of twisted branches bursting out of his head, white as bone. Tagging along at the end was a small fawn, its back spotted like flowers, springing from spot to spot like a frog. Guiding it forward was a small doe, pausing every few steps to make sure its baby was following. Its hind leg was scratched up, and the faintest scent of blood wafted by on the wind. That wound was fresh. That made the doe easy pickings.

It was the perfect day for hunting: clear sky, without a chance of rain, high visibility, the wind blowing in just the right direction, and to top it off, a deer already halfway to being dead. The odds were all in their favor.

“Does everyone know where it is?” says Lark, shifting into her hunter’s crouch, kneading her paws into the earth, anticipating the thrill of the hunt. She starts to pant and her tail twitches back and forth as she tracks the movement of their target with her nose. 

The other three all voice their agreement and move into position. Breeze has the best endurance out of the four of them, and despite her small legs Lark isn’t much worse. They were the ones who stirred the herd into motion and separated their target from the crowd. 

Morak and Cheri, with their girth and muscle mass, were more suited for packing punches than running. They hid up ahead, waiting to land the killing blows. 

Breeze lopes around the field to the other side, so they were opposite Lark. They wait for Lark’s signal, rolling their shoulders and baring their teeth in a wolfish grin. They’re more than ready to start. They hadn’t eaten in days and were more than due for another meal. 

They strain their ears, listening to the steady _thud-thud-thud-thud_ as the deer amble along, grinding their jaws as they pick at whatever tasty stems they scavenge in this half-dead vegetation. As they concentrates, they can pick out the _thud-thud-thudthud_! that was their deer. 

_Thud-thud-thudthud… thud-thud-thudthud… padpadpadpadpad_ \--

That’s their cue! Breeze leaps out of the underbrush, tagging along after Lark, a silver and gray blur as they push push push towards their deer, biting at its heels and sectioning it off from the rest of the herd. The rest of the herd takes off at a gallop, and it’s easy enough to steer it away.

It may have a limp, but man can it run! Breeze yips and sidesteps its flailing hooves as Lark growls and charges it around the corner towards Morak and Cheri. 

Wolves aren’t meant for sprinting. Wolves are made to wear down their prey over a long, hard run. 

Deer, on the other hand, are made for sprinting.

Even with a gash that sprays the smell of blood into Breeze’s face with every step, the deer pulls ahead. They curse and digs their paws into the earth, willing their muscles to work faster. Their body screams in protest, but they ignore it, because the scent of blood is on their tongue and they wants more, more, more. They lose themselves in the rhythm of his paws hitting the earth. Lark’s _pantpantpant_ as she easily lopes along. The whispering of the grass as they slide past, moving as easily as the wind.

Breeze keeps pace with the deer, neck to neck. The pain starts to fade, replaced by a satisfied, gnawing ache. Running is good. Running is almost better than the meal. Almost. They smell blood in the area and lets their tongue loll out of his mouth, drool spilling down their cheek, more than ready to take a chunk out of the deer - an appetizer before the main meal.

Lark growls. “Breeze! Get a hang of yourself.” 

“What?”

Lark glowers. “You’re going to mess everything up! Get back in place.”

Oh. Breeze sloppily licks up their slobber and slows down just enough to get back to herding the deer. They’re almost to the mass of boulders and fallen trees where Morak and Cheri are waiting.

They channel the deer right into the wall. Lark signals, and the two of them pull up, blocking the way out. Morak and Cheri leap out of the bushes, slashing their fangs and snarling. The deer looks between the four of them, ears swiveling back and forth as it calculates just how trapped it is. The answer: very. It backs into a corner on three legs, too exhausted to put any more weight on its injury.

“Easy peasy,” says Morak. 

“Like stealing from from a scavenger,” agrees Cheri.

“Go!” barks Lark.

The two of them jump forward. Cheri, being the larger one, aims for the throat. Morak takes a shoulder. The deer cries out and jumps, attempting to shake them off. Cheri jumps back. Morak has a firm grip on the deer where the shoulder meets the neck and hangs on tight. Lark takes control of the animal’s movement, snapping at it when it tries to run. 

Breeze’s place is down with Lark, guiding the creature and penning it in while Cheri and Morak take it down. But their blood is boiling, and they’re drunk on the scent of someone else’s blood, and their body’s so high on adrenaline they could jump to the moon.

The deer stumbles towards them, heading right for where they’re standing. So they leap. Not away from the deer. Towards it.

Everything comes down to this. Their muscles bunch and contract, preparing for takeoff. Their back legs dig into the ground. Forepaws tucked up, and then reaching out, and their jaws are open, and they’re headed right for the throat of that damn thing--

The doe’s flailing legs fill their vision.

Pain flashes through their side and everything goes white. They hit the ground, ears ringing, nose too blocked by shock and dirt to be of any use. They try to stand and fails. Panic grabs a hold of them and they whimper, legs jerking, blind eyes rolling, crying for help, please, someone, this can’t be, they can’t be dy-

Paws press into their side, restricting their movement. Someone puts a paw over their head, effectively holding them still. “Breeze!”

Their name. That’s their name. They’re calling out to them. They try to respond, but nothing moves when they ask it to.

“Typical. Their ribs aren’t even broken and They’re acting like they're dead. What a drama queen.”

Breeze’s ears pivot, trying to locate the sound of the voice. It sounded so familiar, and yet--

“Look, they’re responding. That has to be good, at least.”

“Maybe I should fart in their face. That’d get a reaction from them.”

“Or you’d just kill them, Morak. No offense, but your farts stink.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

“G...guys?” Breeze coughs. “Everything alright?”

“You took a tumble, sweetie.”

They know that voice, sweet and deep like honey - Cheri. “You doing okay?” 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. Lemme up.”

The paws holding them down release them, and with a little effort they manage to sit up. They roll their shoulder, testing their side, and it’s like Lark said - no broken bones. They were bruised, but they’d survive. 

They tested the air. The scent of the forest flooded his nostrils - worms and moles in the ground below, birds in the air above above, pine and fir and birch trees growing and decaying all around them. No sign of the deer.

“The deer--?”

“Got away,” says Cheri. She sighs. 

“We were worried about you, brother,” puts in Morak. He was somber faced when Breeze first looked at him, but now his tail starts to wag again. “Good to see you’re still in one piece.”

“They’re lucky they came out unscathed,” cuts in Lark. “ _And_ we lost breakfast because of them. I hope you’re happy. Idiot.”

“Hey now, don’t blame them,” soothes Cheri. “The thrill of the hunt was affecting all of us, not just them. It’s not their fault they got excited.”

“No, but it is their fault they couldn’t keep control of themselves,” growls Lark. Without a backwards glance, she slinks off back towards the way they came. “C’mon guys. I’m going home. I need a nap.”

“Yessir!” says Morak, bounding after her. “Hey, by the way, did I show you the rock that looks just like Gurion--”

“No, and I don’t give a rat’s ass, Morak.”

“But see, we’re passing it on the way back home, and--”

“No, Morak.”

“Chin up, hon. Better luck next time.” Cheri touches her nose to Breeze’s, then trots off after the others. 

“H-hey! Wait up!” Breeze stands up, staggering and dipping to the side as they struggle to fight off their lightheadedness. “It’s not like I didn’t get injured, you know! I totally have a scratch on my side! A-and, and a bruise! It _hurts_! You guys!” 

Breeze lopes after them, stumbling on tree roots and stray rocks in their path.

Overhead, the sun continues its ascent through the sky, chasing her prey, the moon. She is as enduring and persistent as the wolf. Day will turn to night, and the creatures of the day will turn to sleep, to dream of dragonfly ponds and deer made of gold and flames and explosions white as bone. The creatures of the night come out to play in the inky blackness, dancing with stars and running with the wind. 

Day becomes night, the sun chases the moon, the wolf chases the deer. Times goes on. 

Time, like the wolf, is insistent, persevering, enduring. When it doesn’t succeed, it will simply try again tomorrow. 


End file.
